


Are You Allergic or Just Happy to See Me?

by xxjewelbox



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Sansa is Oblivious and Margaery is Useless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:28:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24321313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxjewelbox/pseuds/xxjewelbox
Summary: Sansa Stark has done some boneheaded things in order to talk to an attractive person, but walking willingly into allergy-induced misery, and repeatedly? That's a new one.Also known as a flowershop AU where Sansa is possibly an idiot and Margaery flirts via flowers constantly but the object of her affection is popping antihistamines like PEZ so the messages may not be understood
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark & Sansa Stark, Jeyne Poole & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Lysa Tully Arryn & Sansa Stark, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sansa Stark & Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark & Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark & Ygritte, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Talisa Maegyr & Sansa Stark, Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark, Tyrion Lannister & Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Shae, Yara Greyjoy & Sansa Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89





	1. For Good Fortune – For Tyrion

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome one and all to my first attempt at writing Sansaery! And, what better way to start than to try my hand at some absolute fluff which just showcases Useless WLW™? It was either this or the Hallmark Movie AU I've thought about before I delve into something probably heavier.

Sansa had to admit, whoever Tyrion had gotten to decorate his new office ( _their_ new office, he kept on reminding her) had done a good job. It was now a far cry from the ramshackle office space that Tyrion had proudly shown her when he promised to take her away from the Lannister firm, bathed in warm red and gold and wood. It looked regal and homey, even with the walls of cardboard boxes that broke up the aesthetic.

The movers had just dropped off the last of their boxes filled with case files and remaining unassembled furniture, and Sansa needed to wait for Tyrion’s arrival before they could start unpacking everything. Well, Tyrion and Sansa’s brothers, plus Gendry and Theon. The Stark boys had all decided that Sansa’s new office deserved nothing less than all of their help, especially after Tyrion had offered to bribe them with the nicest booze he could afford (which, given his family’s wealth, was of the finest quality) and as much food as they could stomach. Not surprisingly, all six had agreed to the terms.

Not that they had needed much convincing to help their “favorite Lannister”.

As if on cue, Tyrion himself walked in through their front door, humming to himself. The tune sounded a lot like “The Rains of Castamere”, since Sansa suspected that was the only song Tyrion knew by heart, but she wasn’t going to impinge on his good mood by teasing him.

“Sansa,” he greeted with a smile when he noticed her.

“Tyrion,” she responded in kind. “Everything looks great,” Sansa added with enthusiasm. Truly, everything was a far cry from the impersonal cubicle she had at his family’s firm, which had surprised the redhead about her boss at first. But then again, she would’ve agreed to work out of her childhood bedroom to get away from Cersei and Joffrey and the workplace rumors that had started the moment Tyrion decided he had liked her work more than any of the other paralegals’.

He turned his attention away from her and to the work waiting them. “I can’t take all of the credit, it’s all Shae’s doing,” the blond rebutted.

The two of them were so enraptured by the office space around them, and what it represented, that a comfortable silence settled around them like a warm cloak, only to be thrown off too soon by their front door swinging open and six loud Stark and Stark-adjacent men barging in.

“Sans!” One of the voices – Robb’s – shouted as Sansa turned around suddenly, grinning once again at her family.

“We come bearing tools –“ cut in Jon, who had been banned from using power tools for nearly two decades.

“And IT support!” chimed Theon, even if he was easily the most useless with technology.

Instead of trying to file in one at a time, which would have been far too reasonable and civilized, the boys with their overly-large shoulders and bullishness kept on getting stuck in the door frame, jostling each other until they were all inside, with Bran and his chair taking up the rear.

“And I thank you all for coming,” her boss replied, much happier that Starks were helping versus whoever had come ‘recommended’ by his family. With the exception of Jaime, the Starks were more welcoming than any of his family, to the point where he felt like some sort of cousin; even with the boisterous chaos that seemed to be a default state for them.

With the promise of that chaos that was Robb, Theon, Jon, Bran, Rickon, and Gendry working in her office alongside Tyrion, Sansa decided that was her cue to leave before she would have to take responsibility for someone’s injuries.

Hugging each in turn, Sansa made her way to the door, calling a “call me if someone needs a ride to the hospital,” over her shoulder as she slipped out.

She put the sounds of her office behind her and stepped out into the spring air of King’s Landing. There hadn’t been much time for exploring when Tyrion had first brought her to this part of the city, but she was going to change that while she waited for the set-up of her workplace.

Most importantly would be looking at where food was to be found, remembering Tyrion’s promise and the fact that long hours would mean eating plenty at the office. And it wouldn’t hurt to introduce themselves to the neighbors, she knew her mother would say.

As Sansa walked, she took in her surroundings. Right next to the office was what looked to be a bookstore called Dragonstone, and across the street was a little store called Seaworth’s. Judging by what was outside, it looked to be a convenience store or small grocery store. She could see a branch of the Iron Bank, and other signs that didn’t hold her interest.

Especially when she started to _smell_ something – woodsmoke and meat and what Sansa assumed (hoped) was barbecue sauce – that was delicious and she knew would solve Tyrion’s problem of having to feed her brothers later. She could see a sign hanging over the street that labeled the source of the scent as a front called “Salt and Smoke”, and started in that direction.

As she walked, Sansa continued to look in the storefronts she passed, mentally taking note of each neighbor to report back to Tyrion later.

But when the redhead walked past a front that seemed to be comprised entirely of glass, something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Freezing in her steps, Sansa turned and looked, finding herself face-to-face with a veritable wall of displayed plants. And through the foliage, she spied the world’s most attractive people deep in conversation.

The girl – no, _woman_ , she was most definitely a woman – was standing behind a counter with a vase in front of her, arranging various flowers in it a way that Sansa thought looked completely natural (it made Sansa wonder what it would be like dancing with her, for some reason). She was a brunette (a more golden brunette in comparison to her sister’s darker color), with her hair in waves simply behind her shoulders, and a jawline that made Sansa want to start thinking in clichés. The man, for his part, looked so similar that it was clear the pair were siblings, except his face had a softer look and his locks were curled rather than waved. Jeyne would fall in love at first sight with him, certainly.

Barbecue was all but forgotten, as Sansa turned on her heel and went for the shop’s door, barging in without a second thought.

She probably should’ve spared that thought, because once she stepped inside, she made a very key realization.

The World’s Most Beautiful Woman™ was standing in the middle of a flower shop.

And Sansa was allergic to pollen.

With her entrance, whatever conversation the attractive pair halted, and the woman behind the counter beamed widely at Sansa while her counterpart smirked and sauntered off to parts unseen.

“Hi, welcome to Queen of Thorns, how can I help you?” the Woman of Sansa’s Dreams™ greeted, in a voice that brought back the desire to speak in clichés while making Sansa forget that she was allergic to flowers.

 _Sansa, don’t be rude,_ the internal voice that sounded not dissimilar to her mother’s chastised her for just standing there, spurring Sansa into action.

“Oh! Yeah, my boss and I are just moving in a few doors down, and I wanted to get him something to brighten up his office,” the redhead lied, knowing that Tyrion had never had a surviving office plant in his life. She was actually sure that one time he had killed a fern by giving it wine instead of water.

But she must have been a convincing enough liar, because the woman strode out from behind the counter, bouquet forgotten as she turned all of her focus onto her customer.

“Neighbors, hm?” she asked as she boldly reached out a hand for Sansa to grab, not giving her a chance to step away.

Sansa instinctively reached forward and accepted the proffered hand, allowing herself to be guided over towards shelving that was covered in an astonishing variety of green potted plants.

The woman, for her part, was gesticulating (with the hand that was not still holding Sansa’s) at each individual plant and saying something about them, even if Sansa really had no idea what was being said. But when Sansa realized there was a pause in her words, and her brown eyes were expectantly on Sansa, waiting for a response, the redhead felt dumb.

“Sorry, what was that?” she asked.

Thankfully, the florist didn’t seem to be too upset at having to repeat herself. “How hardy do you think the plant should be?” she asked.

“Very. We get wrapped up in work a lot and may forget to water it,” Sansa responded, reminding herself _not_ to tell the drunken fern story. A girl who clearly loved plants as much as this one did probably would not be amused to what amounted to negligent planticide.

The answer seemed to satisfy the other woman, as she guided the Stark to one end of the shelving, her hand still grasping Sansa’s.

Sansa wondered if she was just a very tactile person, to explain the easy hand-holding. Not that she was about to pull away; it was refreshing to indulge in the action without having to be on an awkward date.

And the feeling _was_ distracting her from the itching of her eyes and the sneeze that was building deep in her skull.

“– people always try and get something that makes them look ‘calm’ or ‘zen’, like bonsai,” Sansa listened back in on what the other woman was saying. “But I don’t think anyone can go wrong with something more low-key. Saves time and money,” she advocated. Which, truthfully, would’ve sold Sansa right there.

The redhead inspected the plant that she was being directed to, and nodded her agreement at the assessment. Her eyes read the pot’s little placard – _Crassula ovata_ , also known as the jade plant, lucky plant, or money plant – and she was definitely sold on the plant.

“I like it,” Sansa agreed, slightly hoping that said agreement would get her the plant and out of the shop, even if she didn’t want to stop listening to the brunette.

The brunette grabbed the plant with glee and unfortunately let go of Sansa’s hand, walking over towards the register. As she began the process of ringing up Sansa, she started to make small-talk.

“You said you and your boss just moved in, what do you guys do?” she asked, which made the redhead mentally curse herself that she didn’t take any of the business cards that Tyrion had gotten made for her and their firm. He probably was going to tease her for that.

“Lawyer,” Sansa supplied, “Although technically Tyrion’s the lawyer, I’m a paralegal. Tyrion Lannister and Associate.” She had initially argued on the name, but it was part of Tyrion insisting that they were equals in the business.

The woman appeared impressed at that. “The place next to Dragonstone, right?” she queried.

Sansa nodded in response.

“Thank the Seven, we were worried that one of those Dornish girls was going to open a wine shop there, and I didn’t want my window to become a casualty of some war between Stannis and the Sand sisters,” she continued, undeterred by Sansa’s nonverbal response. “That’ll be two stags.”

Without hesitation, Sansa reached into her purse and pulled out her credit card, handing it over before she had to itch her eyes or let out the sneeze that was building up. As she looked up and watched the other woman finish the sale, she read one of the business cards on the counter – her name was Margaery Tyrell (or at least, Sansa hoped that she was Margaery and not Loras).

But the purchase was over before Sansa could remember to turn on her “Stark Charm” (as the guys called their attempts at flirting, even she could recognize that they all were probably useless at it), and she grabbed the pot and turned towards the exit, remembering to turn around and smile at hopefully-Margaery before making it out the door.

It wasn’t until Sansa made sure she couldn’t be seen through a window before she finally let out an almighty sneeze, and made a mental note to herself to buy allergy medicine as she made her way back to the office.

She had a feeling she was going to need it.


	2. Mother's Day – For Catelyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did Sansa forget Mother's Day? Possibly. Probably. Especially on purpose if she could last-minute shop and buy some cliche flowers just to impress-but-not-impress a woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may include some sections (maybe a chapter) from Margaery's POV, but this fic definitely feels like more of a Sansa-sided story.

In nearly two weeks since Sansa and Tyrion had moved into their new office space, work had picked up, and it felt like things hadn’t changed – in a good way. Not only had Tyrion somehow been able to negotiate taking clients from Lannister & Lannister, but every day he was out talking to all of their neighbors (and even a bit beyond) to introduce himself and their firm.

So far, they had met Missandei, who co-owned the bookstore next to their office, Dragonstone; and Davos, who owned Seaworth’s across the street. Tyrion had met Stannis, the owner of Salt and Smoke, when they had moved in and he had to buy the dour man practically completely out of stock in order to feed the Starks. Then there had been the young man who owned Hot Pie, who insisted on being called ‘Hot Pie’, and Sandor, a large burnt man who scared Sansa at first but turned out to own a nearby animal shelter. And there were more.

But the one visit that had stuck out the most in her mind was when the siblings that owned Queen of Thorns walked in, and Sansa got confirmation that the gorgeous woman was indeed Margaery, and the curly-haired man was her older brother, Loras. Although Margaery was the one engaged in the most conversation with Tyrion, her gaze seemed to have a way of finding itself seemingly focused on Sansa.

When the pair had left, Sansa caught glimpse of a smile on Margaery’s face that she could swear was flirtatious. Well, not really flirtatious, but the kind of smile she would see at Maiden’s Fancy on whatever woman thought they could have her simply because they _wanted_.

But Sansa had to have been misreading that.

Not that Sansa thought she herself was unattractive, she was well aware that she had inherited her mother’s Tully good looks. It was more of pure disbelief that it would happen to her at work, or even really outside of a bar.

So really, she had to have been misreading the smile.

What she hadn’t misread, but rather forgotten (and _not_ because she was overthinking Margaery’s smile), was that this weekend was Mother’s Day, and she had completely forgotten to get her mother some sort of present. Truthfully, she had put herself so far into work that she had forgotten the fact that there was the traditional Stark Mother’s Day weekend celebration Up North in Winterfell. It shamefully had taken Tyrion reminding her that this weekend was the holiday, on top of a reminder text from her father.

And everyone knew how Eddard Stark despised texting.

Upon hearing that – that Eddard Stark, _Eddard Stark_ , had texted his daughter to remind her of a family holiday – Tyrion had graciously (stubbornly) insisted that Sansa only work a half-day on Friday, to give her enough time to last-minute shop and drive North and actually enjoy her weekend.

Which left Sansa right here, standing in the middle of Queen of Thorns, battling a gods-be-damned sneeze while staring at the overwhelming display of bouquets. She could have just called Samwell and asked him to make her a card with his calligraphy, or walked across to Seaworth’s and asked Davos to help her find an interesting new type of meat or spice that her mother would delight to experiment with, or even bring a platter of something from Salt and Smoke to ease some burden of cooking for the Stark brood.

Instead, she was standing in what she thought could be one of the Seven Hells, all because she wanted to _see_ Margaery and _smile at_ Margaery and _speak with_ Margaery and _be smiled at_ by Margaery. Which was absolutely absurd, because Margaery was a stranger and possibly completely out of Sansa’s league, and even worse, she was _nice_.

“Forgot Mother’s Day?”

The roughly smooth yet dulcet voice doused her, like Arya had dropped a water balloon onto her head back when they were kids.

Shocked, Sansa jumped slightly and turned, finding herself face-to-face with the one and only Margaery Tyrell. On reflex, her cheeks reddened, probably matching whatever shade of pink her nose was already turning.

“More like procrastinated a little too long,” the redhead admitted, “With the move and getting settled in, my mom said I didn’t have to get her anything, but I’ll never live it down if I show up empty-handed.”

The desire to sneeze was growing, and Sansa sniffled to try and focus on doing something else.

Margaery either didn’t notice or didn’t see through her action, her arm looping itself around Sansa’s to bring her closer to examine the various bouquets that she (presumably) had put together. “Our rose bouquets are probably the most standard and popular ones we have for Mother’s Day,” she started, “Loras grows so many wonderful varieties, and it seems like everyone expects a Tyrell to only sell roses; but I’m a firm believer in expressing yourself without the use of roses, especially when everyone else will be giving roses.”

Sansa couldn’t tell if it was a sales pitch, since Margaery was directing her towards bouquets that were made with decidedly not-roses, but whatever the brunette was selling, Sansa would probably buy. Although, she did have to admit, Margaery clearly had a point.

The bouquets she was looking at were all made with lilies and little flowers that looked like pom poms, all in varying colors and shades. Pink, orange, red, white, and purple, every color that the rose bouquets also came in, an array of colors that Sansa associated with King’s Landing, or even an area like the Reach; any that she got would be a nice splash of southern color for her mother – whose own garden was filled mostly with hardy perennials that flowered in blues and whites.

“They’re all gorgeous,” was all Sansa could say. After all, in the face of such overwhelming ~~allergies~~ flowers, she wasn’t sure which one would be the best for her mother.

While the redhead was in thought, Margaery eyes were on Sansa’s face, watching the thought process. She could feel Margaery’s gaze burning into her skin, which (probably unintentionally) made things worse. Her thoughts were tumbling over all of the options, her mind only brought back to the present by the feeling of Margaery’s hand squeezing the arm she held.

Her attention returned to the moment, Sansa turned her head, finding herself looking straight into Margaery’s brown (maybe hazel) eyes. They were an arresting sight, which was saying something because truthfully Sansa had never really appreciated brown eyes before.

But it was coming.

The sneeze.

Oh, _crap_.

The pressure behind her nose was back, and with a vengeance, and no amount of sniffling was going to cover it up. Twisting her head so she was facing away from Margaery, moving it with a speed like she had been slapped, Sansa barely managed to cover her nose and mouth before the offending _‘pthw’_ squeaked out.

“Sorry,” she sniffled at the same time Margaery said _‘bless you’_. “Uh, surprise me? With your choice.”

With only a look to make sure Sansa was really okay, Margaery (reluctantly? Did Sansa project that?) slipped her arm out from Sansa’s, taking three steps forward to get a closer look at her wares. In a scant few moments, the brunette had decided on a bouquet in purple and white, grabbing it by the vase.

“Asiatic lilies, alstroemeria, daisy pom, button pom, and sinuate statice,” she recited as she brought the bouquet over to where she had left Sansa.

It was gorgeous, in the understated way that Sansa knew her mother liked. “I’ll buy it,” she declared.

And with that decision made, Margaery beamed and reached a free hand back around Sansa’s forearm, moving to return to Sansa’s side before beginning to walk with her towards the register. All Sansa could do was follow, smiling and wrinkling her nose on occasion to stave off any returning sneezes or dripping snot that was bound to come soon.

She can’t flirt with a flower shop owner while being allergic, and she’d rather try and flirt versus being allergic, if she had a choice. No matter how much her body wanted to betray her in this.

As Margaery started to ring up Sansa’s purchase, she seemed to opt for more friendly conversation. “How is the jade plant doing? I didn’t see it on Tyrion’s desk when Loras and I met with him,” she queried, as if she hadn’t seen it sitting on Sansa’s desk when she had smiled at her.

“He made me take it, reminding me that he doesn’t have much of a green thumb,” Sansa explained.

Margaery laughed at that. “And you do?”

“I have a dog, so he thinks that qualifies me to take care of all living things,” the Stark shrugged with a smirk. “But, I did some research if I needed to do anything special,” she added, not wanting Margaery to think that Sansa was somehow cavalier with something that she must have so much passion for.

The brunette was quiet for a few moments, putting the bouquet vase-first in a cut box, padding it with sheets from _The Raven Herald_. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call. Or even come by,” she offered, pausing in her stuffing to grab one of her business cards, holding it out for Sansa to take.

There had to be some sort of hint in there somewhere, in fact, Sansa was hopeful there was a hint somewhere, but she certainly didn’t want to jump on it too fast. “Thanks.”

It was a noncommittal response, but the one that Sansa’s brain picked as being interested enough without immediately seeming too interested. At least, that’s what she was rationalizing to herself as she reached forward and plucked the card from Margaery’s fingers, not being so careful as to avoid contact.

Ah yes, the too-subtle art of “Stark Charm”; a process that eventually led to all Starks being hit over the head with the feelings of their object of affection because they’re too oblivious to the signs.

Two stags and three stars was the price, and Sansa once again fished out her credit card and handed it over the counter, with her fingers once again brushing Margaery’s (that Margaery initiated this time, maybe?).

As the brunette waited for Sansa’s card to run through, Margaery eyes were fixed on Sansa’s, although her full attention didn’t seem to be there, as if she was thinking about something and forgot where she was looking. It would have been unnerving, it _was_ a little bit unnerving, but the idea of drawing attention to it seemed like it would be awkward and that Margaery would never look at her again.

But instead of immediately handing Sansa her receipt, Margaery held up a single finger, and requested the Stark to hold for one moment before she bolted into the back. When she did return, she proffered a single cut white daisy for Sansa to take.

“For you. To add a color other than green to your desk,” she explained; and who was Sansa to turn it down?

Carefully, and by the stem, Sansa accepted the flower, and soon was also handed her credit card and receipt. “It’s lovely,” she replied, not lying, even if she knew that it wouldn’t make it to her desk. She already knew that she could press it in between the pages of her copy of _When Women Ruled_ (a name day gift from her father); she didn’t want to lose the gift, but it certainly couldn’t remain on her desk.

“I’ll see you soon, Sansa,” Margaery waved goodbye, and Sansa turned and walked away, the idea of that promise bringing a smile to her face.

\------ 🐺🌹 ------

The drive from King’s Landing to Winterfell was miserable, purely because Sansa had subjected herself to driving next to her mother’s bouquet. In six hours of itchy eyes, sneezing, and blowing her nose, it was only with the guidance of the old gods that she had made the drive without crashing her car.

She scrambled out of the car, desperate to get some fresh air and away from the pollen that hung inside like a cloud. In the crisp northern air, Sansa took several deep breaths. Even if it didn’t help her symptoms outright, it still helped her feel better. With the fresh air in her lungs, Sansa reached back into her car and grabbed the box of flowers, then started walking up to the door of her parents’ house.

As the Starks kept their doors unlocked – everyone in Winterfell trusted each other too much to call for locked homes – Sansa just opened the door and walked inside, immediately hearing the voices of commotion from the rest of her family being home already. It was easy to follow the carrying sounds, poking her head into the living room where they were all gathered.

“Sansa!” Rickon was the first one to notice her arrival, and he waved her over enthusiastically.

Sansa stepped in through the room’s threshold, her smile widening as she greeted each of her siblings, and their associated significant others. All of the Stark children had moved far enough away and had their own lives – Rickon was the closest while attending college in White Harbor, and Sansa and Arya were the farthest – so it was nice to see everyone together when they made a point of the holidays of the Seven. It didn’t matter that it had been two weeks since she had seen Robb, Jon, Bran, Rickon, and Gendry, or that they had video chats often enough.

“You made it,” her mother greeted in her even and loving way. Catelyn stood up – all of the Starks did – but she was the one who approached, carefully picking her way through the sprawled legs of her family until she was in front of her elder daughter. Once she was in front of Sansa, she was about to extend a hug when she saw both the flowers and Sansa’s face. “My Mother’s Day present?” she asked, surprised.

The young redhead had every intention to nod, but right as she lifted her head, a sneeze slipped out. She must have looked pathetic, with her eyes looking like she was wearing a hideous pink eyeliner (and watering), and her nose a matching shade, because no one dared to point out the obvious.

“There’s some medicine in the downstairs bathroom,” Catelyn soothed, taking the flowers. “And they’re beautiful, my darling girl. I love them.”

Her words, and having gotten to spend time with Margaery, were well worth the misery that Sansa was feeling right now.

Sansa was doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have considerably shrunk Westeros purely so the Starks can actually remain sort of close together without having to drive the distance from my house to Key West (24 hours), just to see each other and do typical sibling shenanigans. So, let's just call it a ¼ scale. Which is more like driving from my house to Marquette, MI (6-ish). Some probably would find that unbearable to drive, but us Americans, man.


End file.
